Page 90 of We Can't Be Friends

“We lived close to Dad’s family. He grew up in the Northeast, and most of that side still resides there. He has four siblings, and they all have three or four kids. Every family gathering was an event. Thanksgiving was no different, and we always hosted it.”

“Did your mom cook everything?”

“Yes, and everyone loved it. My grandpa loved spicy food, so when my dad met and married my mom, he was ecstatic over her cooking. She is heavy-handed with the spices.” I smile at the memory, but it falls away as other sad ones replace it. They’re always there, on the back burner, but every so often they boil. “The last time we spent it together was whileI was in college.”

“Did something change?”

There was no longer the glue that held our family together.

“I graduated and moved away. Miller was playing in the NHL and had a baby on the way. My cousins all got busy,” I tell Cal. It’s the truth, but selective. “Life happens.”

Life happens, exhale. Inhale. Life fucking happens, and there is no controlling it.

“If you want Miller and Riley to come here, I can help you prepare some of your mom’s dishes.” He knows I’m a terrible cook, but he doesn’t know how much this would mean to me.

“Really?” Cal nods. “Would you want to stay and have lunch with us?” I ask.

“I’d love to.”

26

CALLUM

“Have you ever been to a hockey game before?” Riley asks me as we walk into the arena the day after Thanksgiving. The chill inside is less bitter than the one outside.

I glance down at him, his hand tightly clutching Chloe’s. “Never.”

“Well, my daddy is the best. You’ll see.” He pops up one shoulder to his ear.

“I bet he is,” I laugh in agreement.

“No. Like he’s the bestest.”

Chloe glances over at me, gesturing her head to go along with him. She has a jersey on. Miller’s team logo is on the sky-blue front, and his number on the back. Across her shoulders in big, bold letters: Henry.

The two of them walk ahead of me. I fall back to admire her.

Miller took Chloe’s advice and gave his nanny the weekend off. When Chloe picked up Riley, he handed her three tickets for the game tonight, assuming I would want to go with them. He assumed right, but that’s because I enjoy being around her. Quite enjoy how slowly we are peeling away layers of each other, too.

When we met, I could tell immediately that she was an onion. Sure, she could easily make boys cry, but Chloe has layers and lots of them.

Call it layers. Call it a mask, she only reveals bits of what’s underneath to specific people. The closer we become, the more I can tell she’s showing me.

“Chloe, can we get popcorn?” Riley tugs on her arm to get her attention. “No, nachos!”

“Whatever you want, little man. Do you want it now or after we find our seats?”

“Now!” Riley shouts.

“Inside voice, remember.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says quietly.

She laughs, “You can talk normally. No yelling.”

“But I can yell when daddy scores.”

“Absolutely. I’m going to yell louder than you,” she teases.

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